Silvered, circled glass, ringed by places high, as fine a place to live as to bide.
An eye to stare unto the aether and endless spaces, moved by moon-tide and kissed by whispered winds alone.
Beneath the glass lies who knows what may, iris by light and pupil black at dark of day. Glamours to charm and beasts by droves to slay.
Lost and by all time forgot, all the deeds of Lords begot, the wending depth-bound way hither conjures my thought this day.
In clear waters to forget of rage and woes, to find again my way to gentler roads, to twine thought with stream and become as one and pass as it may go. Flowing back unto glories past and foretold.